


The Killing Type

by MonsterTesk



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Children, Implied Mpreg, Infidelity, M/M, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:45:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsterTesk/pseuds/MonsterTesk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is distant, Stiles is lonely and unhappy with his life. Enter Chris Argent who seems to have no idea how freaking impossible it is to find a house in California with a basement.</p>
<p>************* I changed the title of the story because if it's going to be multi-chaptered then The Killing Type is its proper title and not Empty Hearts which was my planned chapter one title. *************</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Empty Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> So I have mussed up the timeline a bit. It's basically a completely different universe. One where Stiles and his lot are about a decade and a half older than they are in cannon but the Argents are about the same age. Stiles is a real estate agent, Derek makes furniture for a living, and Kailee is the most adorable were-child to have ever happened.
> 
> ************* I changed the title of the story because if it's going to be multi-chaptered then The Killing Type is its proper title and not Empty Hearts. *************

 

"You're killing me!" Scott shouts over the phone. Stiles grins and shoulders open the door.

"Hand to whatever, it was Greenberg."

Scott laughs as Stiles quickly makes his way through the house, arms loaded with bags full of finger foods.

"So, hey, are you coming to my birthday bash next Thursday?"

Stiles dumps the bags on kitchen counter and checks his watch.

"I'm considering it."

"Yeah, yeah. You're coming."

Stiles doesn't answer. He knows he should. Scott is his BFF and they’ve been through so much shit together but lately (for a while now) he’s just felt so tired.

"Look, I gotta run. They'll be here soon and I still have a lot of stuff to do," he hedges. Scott sighs.

"Alright. Talk to you soon?"

Stiles smiles but it's not exactly a happy one. Scott knows he's going to let him down; it's what Stiles does best after all.

"Yeah."

Scott hangs up. Stiles drops his phone into the pocket of his slacks, takes a big breath, and then starts in on unpacking trays of cut veggies, fresh baked goods. He sets them all out on the kitchen table, strategically placing the cookies and brownies closer to the window so everyone who wanted a sweet would have to look out into the backyard when they went to get one. He had precisely negative five minutes before the prospectives would show up so he ran through the house, checking that every room was as spotless and impressive as the last time he was here. The doorbell rang when he was shoving the couch over a little to make the living room look just a tad bigger.

Stiles straightens his blazer and smoothes a hand over his hair while he walks to the door. There, he takes a deep breath and thinks about Kailee finger-painting on his face, and smiles.

"Hi, glad you could make it," he says to the top of a red haired man's head and a blond woman's ear. They look at him and smile.

"Hey, Bob Hope– no relation," the guy says, shaking Stiles' hand far too hard. "And this is Mercedes."

Her hand shake is just as hard.

"Nice to meet you two."

For the next four hours more people trickle in. Stiles gives a total of six tours and knows that at least three of them were absolutely useless. By now he can tell when someone wants a place or can afford it.

Stiles checks his watch at two. Vanessa should be here soon as reinforcement.

"I must tell you," Misses Lackey says, sneaking up on Stiles from the left. "This place is an absolute bargain! So beautiful, Mister Stilinski."

Stiles smiles.

"It might as well be stolen for how good the price is. That's real granite," he says pointing at the kitchen counter with his unoccupied hand.

"Please," she said, sidling in closer, placing a delicate hand on his elbow. "Call me Tracy."

Stiles carefully doesn't lean away or in to her, just continues smiling.

"Thanks, Tracy."

"I showed you mine so now you have to show me yours."

Stiles fiddled with his wedding band, hoping she would notice it.

"Stiles."

She leaned away from him, nose crinkling.

"Your name is Stiles Stilinski?"

"Sure," he says, eyes roving around in the hopes of finding Vanessa or Mister Lackey.

"Your parents must have hated you."

Stiles' smile grows tight.

"So," she says, obviously back peddling. "What made you get into real estate?"

"I had a really bad real estate agent."

She laughs like it's a joke but it's not.

≠

 

"Heyyy! I'm home!"

"Daddy!"

Stiles grins, drops what he has in his hands, and kneels down. He's bowled over in a fury of dark brown hair and giggles. Stiles kisses the top of her head.

"Oof, you little monster."

Kailee sits on top of him, grinning, and bounces.

"I lost a toof!"

Stiles sits up, wrapping his arms around her. She wriggles until she's comfy and starts to chatter.

"Papa said I'd get a new one but I don't care! I still have it. See? And Uncuh Sacky says I should put it under my pillow cause some lady wiv a likin' for teefs is gonna give me a dollar for it but papa said that Uncuh Sacky is a butt face and he," and here she frowns until she looks constipated – a great imitation of Derek– and says, "Shouldn't tell stupid stories to little girls."

Stiles laughs.

"I'll tell you what, Leelee, I'll give you two dollars and a cookie if you give your tooth to Papa and tell him that he's the tooth fairy."

"OK!"

She wriggles out of his grip and runs down the hall. Stiles stands slowly, gathers his things, and drops them off in his room before walking down the hall into the kitchen.

Derek is there, standing in front of the stove, stirring something Stiles can't see. He's got mud on his jeans and a tiny hand sized smear of green paint on his hip.

Stiles places a hand on Derek's shoulder blade and leans in, smelling what he's now recognized as spaghetti sauce.

"Mmm, smells good," Stiles says before craning his head so he can kiss the corner of Derek's mouth. Derek frowns, shifts his head so Stiles kisses his cheek instead, and says, "Don't call her a monster."

Stiles represses the urge to roll his eyes and steps away.

"Would you prefer it if I called her a puppy?"

Stiles takes down three plates from the cupboard.

"Don't be an asshole."

His hands clench around the plates. Stiles closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, counts to ten in Basque, grabs some napkins from the holder on the counter.

Little feet come running down the hall when Stiles is setting out forks for them to use.

"Papa!"

He watches Derek turn and crouch, smile on his face and Stiles' heart _hurts_ to see that. Derek has always had the most beautiful smile Stiles has ever seen.

"Yeah, Kailee?"

She holds out a tiny fist and turns it over. Derek plucks her tooth from her hand with a confused look.

"Why'd you give this to me?"

She grins, gives Stiles a sly look and says, "Cause yer the toof fairy!"

Derek shoots Stiles a disapproving face when she runs over to him to retrieve her cookie and two dollars. Stiles just tussles her hair while she happily munches on the oatmeal cookie.

≠

Kailee has been in bed for an hour now and they're watching something that Stiles doesn’t give a shit about on TV. Stiles shifts, eyes Derek sitting next to him, and builds up courage.

Slowly, Stiles creeps his hand on to Derek's thigh. No reaction. Good sign? Bad sign? Stiles has no idea. Only one way to find out. Stiles scoots closer and kisses Derek's shoulder. Still nothing. He kisses his neck.

Derek sighs and closes his eyes. Stiles smiles, kisses the corner of Derek's jaw, and traces slow patterns onto Derek's thigh. Derek doesn't move.

At least not until Stiles puts his hand under his chin, turns his head, and tries to kiss him on the mouth.

He extracts himself from Stiles and slides away on the couch.

Stiles tries not to scream in frustration or ask why, he just sits there and stares at the TV.

He doesn't even know what's playing anymore.

≠

Stiles is sitting at his desk, bored out of his mind, and creeping through Derek's Facebook page. It's literally just pictures of Kailee until four years back where there's a slew of tagged photos with Derek and him in them.

God, they were so happy. He misses his husband. Which shouldn't be possible because he sees him every day.

"What's up, tall shake?" Vanessa asks, coming up to lean on his desk. Stiles sighs and leans back, covering his face with both hands.

"I tried to make out with Derek on the couch last night."

She frowns and gives him sympathetic eyes.

"Still giving you the cold shoulder?"

Stiles nods, morose.

"Cold everything. It's like living with a stranger who happens to have the same kid as me."

She squeezes his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, boo."

Stiles gives her a sad smile in thanks.

"I've got a gig for you. One that's nice and hard like you like."

Stiles perks up. She slaps a folder on his desk. He opens it, skimming through while she talks.

"Owns a business, long history of disposable -so moves a lot, wants a sedan and, get this, a basement."

Stiles looks up, eyebrows raised.

"He does know this is California, right?"

She grins and nods.

"Yup!"

Stiles frowns at her.

"Finding a basement in California is like finding a unicorn with puce hair."

She winks at him. Stiles grins.

"Perfect. You sure do know how to make a guy happy, Van."

She ruffles his hair.

"No, you're just easy."

Stiles laughs. It's maybe a little bitter.

≠

"Did you check under the couch? Yes, baby, I won't go anywhere."

A car pulls up in front of the house Stiles is standing in the yard of. A man gets out while he waits for Kailee to look under the couch for Patches, her stuffed teddy bear.

"I found it!" She squeals. Stiles smiles and waves at the man as he approaches.

"Great! Now will you be a good girl and watch over Uncle Scott for me?"

"Uh huhhhh."

"Alright, Baby girl, I'll see you later, OK?"

"Six, daddy! Don't forget!"

"I won't. Love you, Leelee."

"OK. I love you. Bye bye!"

There's a thunk followed by a rustle, which means she's dropped the phone. Stiles hangs up.

"Hi, you must be Mister Argent."

The man smiles and wow, that's a good smile. He shakes Stiles' hand.

"Chris, please."

"Stilinski. Stiles, if you like."

Chris smiles and points at Stiles' phone.

"Daughter?"

Stiles nods.

"Yeah. She lost her toy and absolutely refuses to leave the house without it."

Chris laughs. He has a good laugh.

"I know that tune. My daughter was the same when she was little. She's in her twenties now and still hasn't outgrown it. Just replaced the toy with her phone."

He gives Stiles a conspiratory wink.

"Kids, huh?"

Stiles nods, a little shocked.

"Wow, you do _not_ look old enough to have a kid old enough to vote."

Chris laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners, and thanks Stiles.

"So," Stiles says, "let's get down to business!"

He represses the urge to finish that sentence with 'to defeat the Huns'.

"This is a great house. Built back when the town was in its infancy. Three bedrooms, one bath, and, as per your request, a basement."

Chris nods and looks at it.

"It seems a little small..."

Stiles holds out an arm to herd Chris towards the door.

"It does seem that way, yes, but wait until you see the inside."

 

Chris doesn't like it. Or the other three houses Stiles shows him. He's a picky bastard and Stiles would stab him in the gut but he appreciates a man who knows what he wants and won't settle for less.

≠

Stiles hits his head against the headrest and listens to his phone ring.

"What's up, boo face?" Vanessa asks. Stiles covers his face with his hand as if that'll make what he's about to say any easier.

"I need to get laid– or put out to pasture– something. I caught myself flirting with Basement guy."

Vanessa tuts. There's the sound of papers being shuffled.

"He did sound cute over the phone."

Stiles groans.

"He's a total DILF and I want to lick his foxy hair."

Vanessa laughs.

"That's so sweet! You two can bond over being DILFs while you don't have hot sweaty man on man action."

Stiles drags his hand over his face and thinks on what is his life.

"He like any of the houses you showed him?"

"No," Stiles blurts out. "Not a one were good enough."

"Poor baby. No satisfaction at all."

Stiles whines out a groan. Vanessa laughs at him.

≠

Stiles flops onto his bed and breathes in the cool scent of blue blankets and desperation. He should be making dinner. It's his turn. But he doesn't want to.

What he wants to do is jerk off and sleep until his husband finds him attractive again but he’s pretty sure pigs are more likely to mate with pigeons and make a mutant flying boar before that happens.

The bed dips as a little body crawls onto it.

"Daddy, are you sad?"

Stiles shifts onto his side, raises his arm to pet the side of his daughter's face. He can only manage a weak smile.

"No, baby. I'm just tired."

"Pizza? Pizza always makes me feel better."

Stiles laughs and pulls her into a hug.

"You want pizza tonight, my little monster?"

She nods vigorously and cuddles into him.

"Alright. I'll make us pizza."

She wraps her tiny arms around him and for a moment Stiles feels at peace. He loves her so fucking much it almost hurts. Stiles would do anything for his little girl.

≠

"The whole house has granite countertops. That means," Stiles says, walking backwards in front of Chris. "The two and a half baths and kitchen. All updated appliances, and a pretty sweet backyard."

Chris opens his mouth to speak when Stiles' phone goes off. Witchy Woman echoes through the entryway. Stiles grins at Chris and says, "Sorry, gotta get this," while digging his phone out of his pocket.

"Hey."

"I can't believe you asked me via text the day of to babysit."

Stiles winces and turns away from Chris.

"I know. I'm sorry."

Lydia snorts and says, "That is so typical of you lot. Can't make any plans."

Stiles cups both hands over his phone.

"Look, I know it's last minute and things have been weird since the divorce but I really could use your help."

He knows she's frowning at him. There's a tense silence. She sighs.

"Alright but you owe me, Stilinski. Major owe me."

Stiles smiles.

"Yeah, I know," he says sadly.

"You're so lucky I love Kailee as much as I do."

"I know. Hey, look. I gotta go. I'll drop her off at seven?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Bye."

The phone goes silent. Stiles stuffs it back into his pocket. He turns back to Chris. He's giving Stiles a sad smile that's full of too much understanding.

"Trouble in paradise?"

Stiles snorts.

"Wouldn't know, I've never been..." Stiles trails off, takes a deep breath. "Unless you count the shower. Here. I want to show you this bad boy."

Chris plays along with the change of topic but he keeps giving Stiles these... _Looks_. Like he somehow knows how Stiles feels.

≠

Birthdays are a sacred event for Stiles and Scott. A day on which they ritually murder two to three extra large Hawaiian pizzas and slaughter fifteen year olds via video games which is why this abomination displeases Stiles immensely.

"Come on, at least pretend you're having fun!" Scott shouts over the base of music so loud it's no longer music and more a deep thrumming through bones. Stiles downs another shot.

"This last gasp at pretending we're still young and relevant is not fun."

Scott just laughs before dragging him out onto the dance floor. Stiles does end up having fun even with as hard as he was trying not to. Especially when this cute boy with too dark to be just a tan skin starts dancing with him. He’s way too young for him but Stiles can’t deny how nice it feels for someone to try their bedroom eyes on him.

 

When Stiles gets home he is smashed, drunk beyond all recognition. It's a good thing like ninety percent of his friends are werewolves who make excellent DDs what with their inability to get drunk. Stiles stumbles into the house, dropping his keys and wallet onto the kitchen counter. After which he wobbles down the hall into Derek's room. He stands there, watching Derek sleep and admiring the way the moonlight plays against his face. He’s so damn beautiful, Stiles thinks and is hit with a wave of déjà vu; remembers thinking the same thing when Derek was pregnant, laying in bed with a protective hand over his stomach, smiling at Stiles like he was what made the world warm and whispering, “She’s kicking.”

Derek stirs.

"Stiles?"

Stiles grins and crawls onto his bed. The bed that used to be theirs. The bed where they made their daughter. The bed where he used to curl up behind Derek with his hand on Derek's swollen stomach and feel their baby kick. He's on top of Derek now, dropping kisses onto his shoulder, neck, and face.

"You smell like a bar," Derek says, pushing Stiles' face away from his.

Stiles tries to kiss him, hand groping down Derek's side and over his ass.

"Stiles, you're drunk."

"Yup!"

Derek squirms and Stiles nuzzles into his neck. God, Derek tastes good. Stiles licks his ear. Derek snorts. Good, Stiles still remembers where he's ticklish. It's fine until he starts kissing lower. And lower. Stiles makes it as far as his hip before Derek does anything more than laughingly protest.

"Stiles, I don't—"

He kisses Derek's cock through his pajamas. Kailee is still over at Lydia's so Stiles would think Derek wouldn't object. But he does.

Stiles gets a face full of Derek's hand and a shove hard enough to send him rolling off the bed. His teeth clack together as he lands. There's a shooting pain coming from his lip. Stiles looks up at Derek and wipes blood from his chin. Neither of them says anything. Derek has this wide-eyed look on his face. Stiles just feels empty.

"OK," Stiles says. "OK."

He picks himself up off the floor and leaves.

Stiles waits an hour, curled up in his bed in his room across the hall from Derek, to cry. He feels like he's dead inside.

≠

"What'd you do?" Lydia asks, frown on her pretty face when Stiles comes by the next day to pick up Kailee.

"Nothing," Stiles says, jiggling his keys. "Thanks for watching Kailee."

Kailee runs out of the house and hugs Stiles around the legs. She's grinning up at him with paint on her hands and glitter on her cheeks.

"Hey, smarty! How you doin'?"

She rubs glitter on his pants and says she got to see Lissa. Lydia gives him a look that says she's tired of his shit and will get answers. Stiles just smiles sheepishly and herds Kailee towards the car.

≠

Stiles hangs up the phone and leans back. He's done for the day but he's dawdling. It's not the first time and it won't be the last that he just... Doesn't want to go home.

"So," Vanessa says, putting her hands on his shoulders and rubbing. "Are you going to tell me what you did to your face?"

Stiles groans and leans back until his head rests on her stomach.

"I tried to drunkenly give Derek a blow job."

She stills.

"Wow."

"I know."

≠

"Hey! Stiles, fancy mee– woah, dude. What'd you do?"

Scott frowns and steps closer to Stiles, eyes on his mouth. Stiles grips the handle on his shopping cart tighter. It's gotten worse than it was the first day. There's like a puddle of brown, purple, and yellow just under his skin around his mouth. Every time he moves it too much it bleeds afresh.

"Nothing," Stiles says, jaw tight. He stares into Scott's basket of frozen pizza, beer, and, weirdly enough, cabbage pointedly. "I know you were absent the day they covered the food groups in health class but, jeeze, Scott, that isn't even two of them. Scott grins and looks down at his hands.

"It's two at least."

Stiles just raises his eyebrows at him.

"Alright. One and a half."

"I'll give you three quarters for the cabbage."

Scott laughs.

"So, uh... I heard Lydia watched Kailee for you on Thursday."

Stiles takes a big breath. He'd hoped Scott didn't know about that. Things have been... Explosively awkward since the divorce.

"How... How is she?"

"Scott, don't make me..."

"Did she look OK?"

Stiles sighs. He's making the kicked puppy face. Stiles hates the kicked puppy face.

"She looked like she hasn't been sleeping well."

Scott makes a weird whining noise, clutching his basket full of junk food to his chest.

≠

Stiles reaches out to rest a hand on Derek's hip when he comes home from work. Derek smoothly shifts so Stiles misses. They haven't touched since that night.

≠

"OK, so. I know this doesn't look that great but it has character," Stiles says as he leans back against the counter. The house isn't awful just... Smallish and definitely a fixer upper. "As it is, you could set it up however you want. No having to deal with other people's preferences."

Chris turns around and stares at Stiles, an unamused look on his face.

"You mean preferences like city ordinance?"

Stiles tries not to laugh, which wouldn't be so easy but he's been trying not to frown or like, sob in a manly fashion for days now.

"But it has a basement."

Chris is staring at Stiles' mouth. It makes him– uncomfortable. Chris takes in a sudden breath.

"Are you OK?" Chris blurts out. Stiles resists the urge to laugh. "I mean, your mouth. It looks... Painful."

Stiles licks his lips, considers carefully what to say.

"Yeah I'm– oh fuck it. I'm not OK. I am a fucking mess. You know," Stiles says, grinning, "You're the first person to ask me if I'm alright?" Stiles starts pacing, one hand coming up to run through his hair. "Literally everyone else asked what did I do. Not, you know, am I OK or what happened or anything like that. No, they all asked what did I do as if the only time I'd get hurt is if I deserved it."

Stiles stops pacing and looks out the kitchen window. Why did he say all that? Why didn't he just stick with the 'its nothing' approach. The only reason Chris probably asked if he was OK was because he doesn't know Stiles; he doesn't know just how much of a bastard he is. Stiles wraps his arms around himself and hunches. "God, I just wanted some fucking affection," he mutters, hopefully too quiet for Chris to hear.

He should go. He should go now before he blurts out anything else. He's not going to dump his issues on a client… anymore than he already has.

"I'm sorry," Stiles says, turning his head to look at Chris. He's walking towards Stiles. "I shouldn't have–"

There's hands cupping his face and Chris is leaning into him like he's going to– fuck, Stiles is leaning too, his arms uncurling. Lips touch lips and it's the first kiss Stiles has had that wasn't from Kailee in years.

And it's good. No, it's great. Chris' hands slide down and over Stiles' shoulders, following the line of his back slowly. Stiles clutches at Chris' hips while his spine melts into marshmallow from the way Chris teases his upper lip. Fingers firmly press into the small of his back until Stiles can feel the long, solid line of Chris' body against his. Any thoughts of stopping this fizzle out and die when Chris' hands sink a little lower while his tongue thrusts into Stiles' mouth. Stiles makes this weird breathy humming noise and shivers.

Chris tapers the kiss off, slowly pulling back from Stiles, which is cool because Stiles wouldn't have ended it. He just doesn't have the reserves to do so. Stiles licks his buzzing lips. He might be shaking and his cock is definitely standing at full attention. He hasn't gotten that hard from just a kiss since he was like sixteen.

Stiles spreads his hands across Chris' chest and, fuck, even that is a turn on; real, solidly muscled pecs under his palms.

"Jesus, I– Jesus," Stiles breathes out, staring at Chris' lips. He pats the side of Chris' face and clumsily disentangles himself from him, taking shaky steps to the kitchen counter. He's limping because he's so fucking hard he can't walk straight.

He just cheated on his husband. He just kissed another man, pressed himself against him and used his mouth to betray the man he loves. And, good god, it was _fucking fantastic_. Stiles leans against the counter and wonders how terrible of a person he is for wanting to do it again. And again. In many different ways and positions. He just wants to be touched. He just... Needs to feel wanted.

A hand touches his hip and Stiles turns around. Chris is frowning but Stiles can barely think past that one wonderful point of contact.

"Stiles, did I–"

Stiles flees on shaky legs. He manages to make it to his Jeep before he completely breaks down and has a panic attack.

≠

Derek is cutting up his steak and Stiles is watching him, waiting for that moment when his nostrils flare and he looks at Stiles with hurt on his face and a completely just accusation on his tongue. It doesn't happen. He just chews, swallows, and turns to smile at Kailee.

"So, are you excited for your first day of school?" Derek asks, affection for their daughter evident in his face. She nods, grinning around a fork full of macaroni and mushroom.

"Uh huhh! Grumpa says that he's gonna take me to the zoo if I do good!"

Derek shoots Stiles a look. It's the one that says 'what has your father been telling my precious child?'

"Is that so?"

Kailee stabs a big hunk of mushroom and waves it in the air.

"I gonna see the monkeys!"

Stiles waits ten minutes before he excuses himself. Neither of them notices, too deep into a discussion on the merits of flamingos.

≠

"Are you serious? _Ohmygod_ , you're serious!"

Vanessa slaps his shoulder. Stiles buries his face in his hands, elbows digging in painfully to his thighs.

"Stiles! I said don't have hot sweaty man on man action not totally mack on each other!"

Stiles groans and shakes his head.

"I know," he whines. "It just... Happened. Like slow-mo unstoppable and, holy-fuck-fantastic. I haven't been kissed like that since my honeymoon. Hell, I haven't been kissed since Kailee was a baby."

She sighs and perches on the edge of his desk, running a hand through his hair.

"Oh, baby... Your life is so screwed up."

Stiles laughs. It's maybe only eighty percent bitter.

≠

He waits until he's halfway to work before pulling over to check his voice mail.

"Hey, it's Chris. I just... Wanted to apologize. I didn't mean to do something you didn't want. You can forget it ever happened. It's OK. I'll, uh, I'll find a new agent and you can pretend we never met. Alright?"

Stiles is so full of rage he doesn't realize where he is until he's already pounding on Chris' hotel door. It's the nicest hotel in town. The singular four star that has near-apartment like suits and of course this fucking bastard has gotten the best room here. The door opens and Stiles shoves his way in.

"You know, you're a fucking bastard," Stiles hisses out, glaring at Chris and trying not to stare at his bare chest or the way his pajamas hang low on his hips. Chris just looks confused and contrite. It makes Stiles angrier.

"I'm sorry, I thought–"

"You can't just fucking kiss me like that and then be sorry about it. Jesus, you're such an asshole."

Chris stands there with his mouth partially open and Stiles wants to dive into it. He wants to shove and shove until Chris is against the door and as desperate for it as Stiles is.

"You can't make me want you and then back out like that." Stiles paces, hands flailing sporadically. "Fuck, you can't tempt me like that— Put on a damn shirt."

Chris laughs and there's a good amount of happy relief on his face.

"I take it back, then," he says, smiling at Stiles and advancing on him. Stiles shakes his head.

"But you can't. Do you even realize how wrong this is? I'm married and you're just- just this hot fucking siren I can't have."

Chris stills. The confusion is back.  

"But you're divorced. I heard—"

"Me talking to my best friend's ex wife. They got divorced six months ago and it's been hella weird because they're both friends of mine."

He's back to standing there with his mouth open. Stiles stops pacing and covers his face with his hands. His wedding band is cruelly cold and unrelenting on his face. "Everyone has been so fucking distracted by them that they haven't even noticed my marriage is falling apart."

Stiles doesn't look at Chris, can’t help the words coming out of his mouth.

"I don't even know when the last time it was I so much as slept in the same bed as my husband let alone the last time he held me and then you come along all charming and interesting and I'm a damn idiot and a bastard because I can't control myself."

"Did he... The bruises on your face."

Eloquent. Stiles is committing marriage suicide over a man who can't even make a full sentence.

"It was my fault," Stiles says, dropping his hands to his sides. "I should have known better."

A muscle in Chris' jaw twitches. Stiles shakes his head.

"No, really. It was. If you knew me you'd know I was right."

Chris shakes his head and walks up to Stiles. He reaches up and Stiles closes his eyes. Chris' hand is soft when it touches the side of Stiles' face, caressing the discolored skin. It doesn't hurt anymore but it still looks terrible.

"No one deserves this," Chris says softly.

Their second kiss is just as spine melting as the first. The hand gently cupping Stiles' cheek is warm, the stomach under his hands is solid and firm, and the lips moving against his are fucking glorious. Chris lightly sucks on Stiles' bottom lip.

Stiles whimpers pathetically and presses himself against Chris. He’s a bastard and he knows it. He shouldn’t be here and he shouldn’t be doing this. He loves Derek, loves him in a way that’s impossible to deny.

"I'm not getting a divorce," Stiles whispers, afraid that it'll make this stop. Chris shrugs, kissing down Stiles' neck.

"I can't make you do something you don't want to."

Stiles curls his fingers against Chris' back, body shuddering as Chris lightly sucks a patch of skin into his mouth. He can’t move away but at least he can say these things, pretend like he’s still loyal to the man he promised to stay beside for better or for worse.

"I still love him."

Chris' hand slides over Stiles' hip and cups his ass, kneading gently. Stiles is breathing heavy, fingers digging in to Chris’ shoulders.  

"Maybe," Chris says, "But you're still here."

Stiles can't argue with that so he kisses Chris instead. 


	2. Empty Houses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is screwed. Totally and completely screwed on multiple levels. That statement has layers. Like a rotten onion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been forever but whatever. Have another part. I plan for this to have three sections but we'll see how that goes.  
> Please have mercy with me for my terribleness at the Basque language.

When Stiles gets home that night the first thing he does is go straight to the bathroom. He doesn’t actually decide to head there first, it just happens like so much in Stiles’ life.

He sets his keys on the counter next to Kailee’s bubblegum flavored toothpaste, stacks his wallet and phone next to Derek’s razor, and kicks his shoes off.

Stiles stands in the shower stall fully dressed and turns the hot water knob all the way on. For a full minute the water is exceptionally cold. Derek still hasn’t fixed the water heater. Stiles stands there, shivering, and stares at Derek’s bottle of Irish Spring body wash.

Like an automaton, Stiles loosens his tie, unbuttons the top three buttons on his shirt, and pulls his jacket off. The jacket makes a hollow plopping noise when it lands on the shower floor that Stiles can empathize with. Stiles sucks on his lip, watches his fingers as they unbutton his shirt the rest of the way, and tries not to think of where his hands have been today or of the way Chris had moaned so beautifully when Stiles had slid his slicked up digits inside of him. Stiles’ efforts are, naturally, to no avail.

≠

Stiles flinches when the front door opens, flicking stroganoff sauce onto his arm.

“ _Shit,_ ” he hisses, tugging the kitchen towel off his shoulder and scrubbing the sauce off.

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” he hears Kailee scream over the pounding of her little feet on the hardwood floors. Stiles can’t help the smile that shoves its way onto his face when Kailee latches onto his leg, face pressed into his hip. Stiles smoothes her hair down and distinctly doesn’t think about the other person he had wrapped around his legs earlier today.

Kailee looks up at him, nose crinkled.

“You smell funny,” She says and Stiles’ stomach churns.

Derek says nothing when he comes into the kitchen, just starts getting out the plates for dinner like it’s an ordinary day.

Stiles is an utter bastard.

≠

“If it’s too awkward for you, I can take on Basement Guy,” Vanessa offers, propping a hip on his desk. She’s got her sympathy face on and Stiles considers it; considers handing Chris off to her, pretending it was only the kiss, and going on about his miserable life like he’s not a cheating douche bag. It has just been the one time. Maybe he can pretend like it was a mistake, a one-off, that’ll never happen again.

“No,” Stiles says, smiling in what he hopes is a way that says ‘I’m a good trooper.’

“It’s fine. I talked to him about it and I think we reached an understanding.”

She raises an eyebrow at him like she doesn’t believe him. Stiles almost does it, almost tells her how he fucked Chris into the sheets until Chris screamed Stiles’ name and came all over himself. Instead he bites his cheek and waits her out.

“Alright, boo, but if you change your mind you know I’ve got your back.”

Stiles nods in thanks and doesn’t think about the scratch marks Chris left on his back. She knows. She must know. There’s no way she can’t.

≠

The ground under Stiles twitches then whirls past. Stiles yelps, bringing his arms to his chest so he doesn’t end up hitting them on the underbelly of his Jeep. He comes to a jerky stop, breathing heavy. Stiles drops his wrench onto the ground and rips his headphones out.

“What the f—” Stiles starts to say before he looks up. Derek is standing there in a faded black tee with the angriest look on his face that Stiles has ever seen. He kind of wants to lick it, just to see what it tastes like.

“Where’s my daughter,” Derek spits out between clenched teeth. Stiles sighs, sitting up. He pulls the oil rag he has tucked into the front of his jeans out and pointedly doesn’t stare at the foot Derek has planted between Stiles’ thighs on the creeper while he wipes his hands.  

“It’s Friday,” Stiles says in a calm voice, heart still racing.

This would be it; this would be when Derek confronts him about his… indiscretion—while Kailee is over at Stiles’ dad’s place for grandpa bonding time.

Derek’s face is blank for a few seconds before his whole body relaxes, tension draining out of it onto the floor and into Stiles.

“Oh,” Derek says, hands unfisting at his sides. “I’m gonna order pizza.”

Stiles lies back down on the creeper and picks up his wrench.

“Meat lovers?” Stiles requests as Derek pushes him back under his Jeep.

“Veggie,” is all he gets in reply.

Stiles sighs. He hates veggie pizza.

“At least make it stuffed crust!”

Derek doesn’t respond.

≠

When Stiles makes it inside, he finds Derek in the living room, pizza on the coffee table, and a beer in his hands. Derek doesn’t turn his head when Stiles peaks into the room. Just keeps his eyes fixed on the karate movie he’s watching.

Stiles scrubs grease off his hands at the kitchen sink until they’re pink but doesn’t get it all off. His hands are stained, dirty. Images of Chris spread out on his hotel bed, chanting out cuss words and Stiles’ name come to him. He smirks. Stiles is a dirty, dirty man.

“The pizza’s getting cold!” Derek shouts. Stiles shakes his head, swallowing the lump that rapidly forms in his throat. He woodenly dries his hands and walks into the living room. Stiles maybe feels like he’s going to cry.

Stiles plops down on the floor next to Derek’s legs and doesn’t think about how many evenings they’ve passed like this; Stiles leaning on Derek’s legs, playing with the hair around his ankle, and Derek kneading the knots out of Stiles’ back and shoulders. It’s been a long time since the last night like that.

Derek picks up the remote with his free hand, pizza slice now in the other. The karate movie he was watching blinkers out, replaced by How It’s Made. Heartened by Derek putting on a show Stiles likes, he takes a gamble and leans against Derek’s leg.

It’s too quiet in the house without Kailee, too lonely. Derek stiffens but doesn’t push him away. Why can’t this be enough for Stiles? Why did he have to go and do what it is he did?

Stiles lays his head on Derek’s knee and steals a sip of the beer sitting on the coffee table in front of him. His chest feels as hollow as the suitcases they’re making on TV.

≠

“Hey, Lyds! Just picking up the— _Oh Jesus fuck!”_

Stiles freezes, eyes big and round, staring at Lydia’s kitchen table on which Allison is sprawled out, Lydia’s head underneath her skirt.

Stiles actually blushes so hard and fast that he gets woozy, sways, and leans against the wall.

“Stiles!”

Stiles about faces and starts walking back towards the way he came in.

“No, it’s cool! I’ll come back later!”

≠

“I was beginning to think you changed your mind,” is what Chris answers the phone with.

Stiles’ gut clenches. He should, he really should. He should tell Chris that Vanessa would be handling his house hunt from now on, that Chris should delete his number, and never think about Stiles again. He takes in a big gulp of air to possibly do just that.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Chris says.

“What about me?” Stiles nearly whispers, unable to stop himself or the thrill he feels at Chris’ words.

“What your lips feel like. What you taste like” Chris murmurs in a quiet voice. It’s that which makes Stiles realize just how dangerous this is, Chris is. This should be when Stiles stops, backs away.

He looks at the carved owl hanging from his rearview mirror. Derek made that for Stiles back before they got married, back when Derek never seemed to get enough of him. Told Stiles that it was because Stiles never slept and seemed to see everything. Stiles never saw this coming. Never saw him being unhappy with Derek, never saw Lydia and Scott truly ending it, never saw in himself the capacity to cheat.

“Stiles?”

Stiles snaps back to the present and away from memories of Derek smiling at him with heat in his eyes.

“You haven’t tasted me yet,” Stiles says, frown on his face and heat creeping into his cheeks.

“I know,” Chris says and his voice is tinged with playful regret.

Stiles blurts out the address of an old town house he’s been trying to sell for months. It’s still got some furniture in it from the last owners.

“I’ll see you there,” Chris says and Stiles can tell that he’s pleased with himself. Momentarily, Stiles hates him for being able to simply be happy.

≠

“So I walk in like, ‘hey, friend! Just here for that drill you borrowed!’ and she’s face-planted between the legs of one of her students.”

Chris laughs, lips grazing their way down Stiles’ chest while his fingers trace maddening lines over Stiles’ thighs. Stiles narrows his eyes and mildly yanks on Chris’ hair, overwhelmingly irritated.

“Dude, it’s not funny.”

Chris’ stubble tickles a little as he kisses each one of Stiles’ ribs. Stiles shivers.

“It’s a little funny,” Chris says, hands teasing, fingers now circling his dick. Stiles hisses at the feel of that.

“It’s gonna be way less funny when Lydia breaks her heart. It’ll be just like the Jackson Incident all over again.”

“Jackson Incident?” Chris inquires, lips moving against Stiles’ hip now. Stiles tightens his fingers in Chris’ hair. He wonders briefly why Chris hasn’t told him to shut up yet. Derek would have by now. He would have climbed up Stiles’ body, pressed his mouth right against Stiles’ ear and shoved the words into Stiles while squeezing the head of his dick until Stiles moaned and bucked up into him. That used to turn Stiles on so much. It never shut him up but it at least got him back on topic.

“Before they got married, Lydia broke it off with Scott. Said she couldn’t deal with the secrets. Personally, I think it was because of Erica but that’s a mess I’d rather not g—oh, _fuck yes._ Like that.”

Stiles cranes his neck to watch Chris lick the length of his dick. Chris smiles up at Stiles like the cat that got the canary in a cream soup.

“You were saying?”

Stiles takes in a big breathe of air, trying to remember what the hell he was talking about. Oh right. Lydia and Lissa.

“Lydia fucked around with this guy named Jackson. He was kind of a douche but she didn’t care; never took it seriously. Just a rebound, you know? Except—”

Stiles breaks off to moan, thighs squeezing Chris’ sides as Chris mouths along Stiles’ dick.

“Except Jackson didn’t know that. Fell head over heals for her. Can’t blame the guy. Everybody is at least a little in love with Lydia.”

Chris removes his mouth from Stiles’ cock to ask, “Even you?” before returning to suck on the head of Stiles’ dick like it’s the best lollipop in the world.

“Oh, I was more than a little in love with her,” Stiles says, more breathe than voice. “Damn near proposed every time she so much as looked my way before—before.”

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to think of Derek who is probably in the workshop right now, carving furniture out of fucking trees or playing with Kailee, smiling and laughing.

Derek only smiles for her now. It’s as if their daughter eclipses the whole of creation to him. Stiles can understand. She does that to him too.

“I’m just worried about her, you know? I really like her. She’s hella cool and funny for a college kid. Don’t want her to end up like Jackson. Allison deserves better…”

Chris pauses.

“What? Why’d you stop?”

Stiles frowns, sliding his hand down to the back of Chris’ neck.

“Her name is Allison? I thought you said it was Lissa?”

Stiles shifts, suddenly uncomfortable with the way Chris is staring at him.

“We call her Lissa but her name’s Allison. Why?”

Chris shakes his head. Stiles can tell he’s making an effort to keep something off his face.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says before swallowing Stiles down so enthusiastically that Stiles forgets his own name.

He comes, biting down on his hand to prevent himself from screaming a name he doesn’t want to think about right now.

≠

“What do you think? Should I go for a macaroni roof or more Three Little Pigs with the angel hair pasta?” Stiles asks, turning his Popsicle house from side to side. Kailee frowns, a serious look on her face while her fingers are covered in glitter and glue.

“Glitter,” she says, eyebrows drawn together and a slight pout to her bottom lip. Stiles smiles at her.

“Angel hair and glitter. You’re a genius, baby girl, a genius.”

She grins, hopping up onto her knees so she can reach across the arts and crafts table Derek made her to rub her hands over his buzzed head. Stiles laughs and tickles her until she’s red-faced and screaming, “Daddy,” in between giggles.

Stiles missed this. He missed getting to spend time with her and not feeling so tired that he couldn’t keep up.

≠

Kailee’s in the bathtub, making her rubber ducky eat her G.I. Joes when Derek comes home. Stiles already has dinner made (lasagna) and is sitting in the kitchen, waiting for it to cool so he can cut it. Derek makes a beeline for the fridge where he pulls out a juice box and leans against the counter.

Stiles fidgets, staring down at his glitter-glued hands until the sensation that he’s being watched becomes too much. He looks up.

“What is it?” Stiles asks, eyeing the frown on Derek’s face while his heart palpitates. Derek shakes his head, sets down his juice box, and walks over to Stiles.

“Nothing,” he says before leaning in, hand raised. His thumb presses against Stiles’ jaw, rubbing. Stiles feels the grit of glitter scrub his jaw. He stops breathing, momentarily terrified and overcome. “You had some glitter there,” Derek whispers, eyes fixed on Stiles’ face somewhere below his nose. Stiles’ heart races, Derek leans in, head tilted to the side.

He’s going to kiss him. Derek Stilinski Hale is going to kiss him, Stiles Hale Stilinski, on the mouth. Stiles’ lips part just the tiniest bit and he’s still not breathing. Derek’s lips are just as soft and firm as Stiles remembers. He melts just the tiniest bit, tries to focus on just this, on just the feel of Derek’s lips against his, on Derek’s body so near to his but the traitor in his mind screams at him; asks him why he feels the need to sneak around with Chris when he can have this, have all of Derek. Why does he feel like he needs Chris when he’s got Derek? Derek who’s sexy even when he’s covered in woodchips, Derek who thinks Stiles’ sense of humor is terrible but still smiles at his jokes, Derek who used to sleep with his head on Stiles’ stomach, Derek who loves Stiles as he is, for everything that they’ve done together.

Derek who helped him bring Kailee into this world.

Stiles presses closer, slides his hands over Derek’s chest. He smells like saw dust and clovers. Stiles loves how Derek smells.

Derek jerks back like he’s been burned. A few seconds later, Stiles hears the patter of little feet on the hardwood followed by giggles. Stiles sighs, knowing he won’t get any more of that tonight, not with Kailee awake.

“Will you go make sure she’s actually clothed?” Stiles asks, turning to check on the status of his lasagna.

“Yeah, of course,” Derek says. Stiles imagines that there’s a hand hovering just over his shoulder, almost, almost, touching his back but he knows that’s too good to be true.

≠

It’s quiet, sunlight streams through the windows of the empty furnished apartment and Stiles is drifting, lulled by the warmth and sensation of skin against skin. He sometimes feels drunk on it, as if so much physical contact has left him high and giddy. Chris is tracing invisible lines over Stiles’ back while Stiles lays bodily on him. It is, he thinks, these moments more than the fucking that threaten to ruin his marriage; tiny little pockets of peace wherein neither party does much more than enjoy some company.

It’s the only time that Stiles feels like himself.

“I lied,” Chris says, lips on Stiles’ scalp.

“’Bout what?”

Stiles should move, sit up, roll off of Chris or at least take the used condom off his dick but he doesn’t.

“You know that house three weeks ago with the granite countertops and finished basement?”

Stiles slides his head along Chris’ chest, smearing his face through drool to look up at him.

“Yeah?”

“I want that one.”

Stiles sits up, straddling Chris, and smacks him hard in the chest.

“Ow,” Chris laughs out, curling up around his chest where he’s captured Stiles’ hand. “What was that for?”

“You dick! Do you even know how hard it’s been to find houses with basements?”

Chris kisses Stiles’ knuckles.

“Maybe.” Stiles glares, irritated beyond belief.  “I didn’t want to lose the excuse to be near you,” he murmurs.

Between that sentence and the way Chris keeps mouthing over Stiles’ hand like it’s not the appendage he wants but the appendage that he can most easily reach, Stiles’ resolve to be pissed melts and turns to kindling in his gut. Chris looks up at him, eyes half-lidded and a small smile on his face like he knows exactly what he’s doing to Stiles.

“Fuck, just blow me already.”

Chris grabs Stiles around the waist and rolls them over. Stiles laughs as Chris rubs his stubbled chin against his neck, leaving open mouthed kisses sporadically.

Stiles feels alive. Like a horrible, no good, dirty rotten person, but alive.

≠

“Who is that?”

Stiles jumps, whirling about. Lydia stands in the doorway, hip leaning against the doorframe, the case for Stiles’ drill hanging from her hand.

“No one. It’s no one,” Stiles says and puts down the penknife he was using to detail the lips. Lydia raises the case in her hand.

“Thought I’d return this.”

Stiles nods, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Lydia shakes her head.

“I’m glad you’ve picked up the clay again, Stiles. I’ve missed seeing your work.”

Stiles bites his lip and tries to hold it in, hold in the confession, keep to himself why he’s suddenly felt like doing it again, who the man’s face he’s turning into a bust is.

≠

Stiles is doing great; he’s happy, has more energy to do things like chase Kailee in the backyard, fix the squeaky break on Derek’s Rav4, closing more deals on houses, and finally, finally feeling alive again. It’s fantastic aside from the mind numbing guilt that overtakes him every other hour. Everything is going so well in his life right now.

That is, until he walks into Derek’s furniture shop with Kailee and finds Chris looking at the hand carved mahogany kitchen set that Derek made last month.

“That’s mahogany,” Derek says, knocking on the wood and Stiles knows he’s making a references because Derek is a giant geek no matter how much he tries to hide it behind the manly beard and carving of furniture with his bare hands. It’s one of the reasons Stiles fell for him so hard. That and the beard. Stiles has always loved a man that could pull off facial hair.

“Papa!” Kailee screams and runs over to him like it’s been decades and not six hours since the last time she saw him. Derek grins and turns, bending over to scoop her up and twirl her around. She giggles in delight and there’s just one tiny instant of a second where her eyes flash amber. She’s mostly got that under control except when she’s under stress or very excited.

“Hey, munchkin,” Derek says, setting her back on her feet and kneeling next to her. “How was school?”

“Missus Allaback smells bad,” she says, wrinkling her nose. Derek laughs. Stiles and Chris are staring at each other. Chris looks vaguely surprised and maybe a little sick.

“Do you have any homework?”

“Nnnnnooo.”

Derek rubs her shoulder and kisses the side of her head.

“Go find a comfy couch and do homework that doesn’t exist.”

“Can I have a snack?”

Derek nods and says, “Right after you’re finished with your homework.”

Kailee perks, bounces in place.

“Kay!”

She peels off at a sprint away from Derek and climbs onto the green leather couch a few feet away. She turns to look at Stiles, hands out doing her grabby thing.

“Daddy! I nee’ my ba’pack!”

Stiles takes a deep breathe and changes his grip on her Superman backpack. He walks the few feet over to her on stiff legs and hands it over. She busies herself with pulling out a workbook. Her learner’s pencil is ridiculously huge in her tiny hand. Stiles kisses the top of her head, smoothing her hair back into place.

“I love you, baby girl,” he whispers into her hair. She frowns and puts her hand, huge pencil and all, over his mouth.

“Don’t get sad again, Daddy. I don’t like you sad…” she whispers, little face contorted with a sudden and intense misery as her eyes flicker. Stiles loves her so very, very, much. He cups his hands around her little one and kisses those tiny knuckles.

“I’ll try,” he says before pulling back.

When he looks up, Derek has his arms crossed and this completely void expression on his face. He says Stiles’ name. Like his name-name. The one that he used to only say when he was super happy or overcome by love for Stiles that now he only ever uses when he’s extremely pissed. Stiles winces.

“Come,” Derek says, jerking his head towards the back of the store where his workshop is.

“Otsoa ur gazi—”

“Don’t,” Derek spits out before turning around and walking away. Stiles follows, shoulders hunched, with only one glance at Chris along the way to ending his marriage entirely.

≠

Derek is there just inside the workshop, leaning against a half-finished oak bed frame.

“How long?

Stiles doesn’t try to deny it, doesn’t even think to continue trying to hide it. He knew it was only a matter of time.

“Not long.”

His face is still expressionless. Stiles expected anger, hurt, maybe even a little rage but… nothing? That somehow hurts worse.

“Do you love him?”

Stiles licks his lips and looks away from Derek.

“No. I don’t know.”

Derek snorts.

“And did you even think about how this would affect Kailee?”

Stiles stiffens.

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “I didn’t think about all that much. At least not as much as I probably should have but he… makes me happy. I haven’t been happy in a very long time, Derek. I—”

“OK.”

Stiles blinks, opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again.

“What? That’s it?”

Derek shakes his head but says nothing else. It’s infinitely worse than screaming or any of the multitudes of reactions that Stiles thought Derek would have. Stiles feels like his heart is shriveling, pumping arsenic through his veins. Derek really doesn’t care. Maybe he does, maybe he just doesn’t love Stiles anymore. Maybe Derek has just been waiting for the right time to cue Stiles in on them not being an us anymore. Maybe Stiles shouldn’t have felt guilty at thinking that Derek finding out might make him jealous, might make him want Stiles again. Maybe Stiles has been the only one of the two of them that still thought they were married.

Stiles flees. He can’t stand looking at Derek and wondering exactly how little he must care for Stiles.

On his way out, he grabs Chris by the arm and drags him along.

“Where’d you park?”

Chris opens his mouth to speak but something in Stiles’ expression stops him. He leads Stiles down the street to his SUV.

All Stiles says when they get in is, “Go. I don’t care where.”

The ride is silent. Chris shoots looks at Stiles but he’s too busy trying not to cry and failing just as miserably at that as everything else in his fucking life to speak.

He waits until they’ve pulled over into a gravel parking lot for a less than popular hiking trail before he completely breaks down.

Stiles stumbles out of the SUV, kicks the first thing he sees – a football sized rock – and promptly vomits.

Stiles is wiping his mouth by the time Chris rounds the car.

Stiles just stands there, clutching his foot (which is a feet he knows is only possible due to the years of yoga Lydia forced him to go to) and staring at where he threw up when Chris speaks.

“ _What did he do to you?”_

Stiles can hear the italics in that. He laughs, dropping his foot back to the ground.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. That’s the problem, see?”

He stands there, head tilted back, and covers his face with his hands.

“He finds out I’m cheating on him and all he says is, ‘OK’.”

Chris just stares.

“How did he—”

Stiles shakes his head.

“It doesn’t matter.”

There’s silence for a little while. Stiles stares at the oak trees around them. There’s poison sumac growing next to the trail. No wonder no one uses it. Chris takes a deep breath.

“Did you know your daughter is a werewolf?”

Stiles snorts, heart suddenly racing.

“There part where it’s genetically inherited was a clue.”

Chris takes a step back.

“You’re—”

“No. You?”

“No.”

Stiles presses his lips together, rolling them in against his teeth and hugs himself.

“Hunter?”

Chris shakes his head.

“Retired.”

Stiles laughs. Of course. Of fucking course.

“What’s jawnyeesh mean?”

Stiles sighs and looks down at his feet.

“It’s my name. Or at least a mangled version of it.

He wipes a hand over his face. Chris frowns.

“You’re Stiles.”

Stiles stares at Chris, eyes squinted in disbelief.

“Do you really think someone would name their kid Stiles Stilinski?”

Chris shrugs.

“What kind of a name is Gazi?”

“None. And it’s otsoa ur gazi. It’s a nickname I gave him in what is my mother’s native tongue.

Chris frowns at him. Stiles bristles.

“What? My mom was an immigrant. Something wrong with that?”

“You never told me that.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and spreads his arms wide.

“Is any of this really relevant right now?

Chris shrugs.

“You had to know he’d find out… Especially considering the whole werewolf bit.”

Stiles crosses his arms.

“You know, you’re really blasé about my being married to a werewolf for a hunter.”

It’s Chris’ turn to look away. Stiles’ jaw drops.

“Dude, you knew? You knew, didn’t you? How long have you known?”

“I know this town has a long history of werewolves, I didn’t know one of them was your husband.”

“Long history—No, wait. Argent. I know that name. I knew it sounded familiar but—Allison!”

Chris twitches.

“You’re—oh my god,” Stiles crouches down close to the ground covering his face with his hands. He might be sick again, he hasn’t decided yet. “Oh my sweet werewolfy Jesus, you’re my best friend’s ex-wife’s best friend’s dad!”

Chris shrugs again, this look on his face that practically screams, ‘You caught me!’

 

What seriously is his life? He’s cheating on a husband that literally does not give a shit, his best friend’s ex-wife is sleeping with one of her students, Scott is slowly regressing into a frat boy, he sucks at his job, and, oh yeah, that guy he’s using to cheat on his apathetic husband is his friend’s fuck buddy’s dad.

Stiles hates everything, especially himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SBmAPYkPeYU  
> Click the link. You know you want to. It'll be hilarious.


	3. Empty Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thing with situations like this is that no matter what the outcome is, no one is entirely happy. It's a choice of deciding which ending will be the best for all involved.  
> Stiles knows this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! Listen up, this is IT. The last chapter. Hope y'all like it. Sorry for the delay.
> 
> Also: I've been having some issues with transferring formatting from my word processor into AO3 so if you see any parts that look like gibberish or are out of order, please let me know. I tried to catch them all but I don't know if I did.

“Thanks for letting me stay over.”

Scott grins, plopping down on the couch next to Stiles.

“No problem, Stiles. That’s what friends are for.”

Stiles smiles at him and fidgets. Every time he sits still he sees Derek again, asking Stiles how long. It’s silent for a few seconds.

“So… you gonna tell me what happened?”

Stiles sighs. Scott angles himself sideways, scratching at the beard he started to grow when he and Lydia broke it off.

“Did you take Kailee to Great Clips again? Or, oh… what was it last time? You watch something ‘grossly inappropriate’?”

Stiles shakes his head, closing his eyes.

“I cheated on him.”

“Seriously?”

Scott sounds so surprised. Stiles hates himself.

“Seriously.”

“….Wow.”

≠

 

“You gonna tell me what happened, boo?” Vanessa asks, perching on Stiles’ desk. He wonders briefly how she knew something had happened but decides not to ask. He’s sure it’s written all over his face.

“I was cheating on Derek and he found out.”

Vanessa sits as still as an oversized paperweight. Stiles straightens the folders on his desk as he waits for the inevitable disappointed smack to the arm.

It never comes. Vanessa stands and walks out of his office. Her unexpected reaction is somehow manifold worse.

Stiles is a real piece of shit.

≠

He’s staring blankly at the spread of take-out menus they keep at the office when Chris calls. Overcome by a sudden and intense rage, Stiles viciously stabs the ignore button.

Two minutes later his phone chirps to let him know he has a voicemail.

Stiles ignores that too.

≠

Stiles calls his dad while waiting for a Mister and Misses Hoffman at a townhouse in the newest part of town. He’s fucked Chris on the dining room table here.

“Hey kiddo, I’m a little busy right now, what’s going on?”

Stiles bites his lip, tears flooding his eyes for no damn reason.

“Nothing. Nothing. I’ll – I’ll talk to you later.”

“You alright?”

Stiles closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah. Just waiting for a client but I think they’re pulling up now.”

“Talk later, OK?”

“Sure,” Stiles says and hangs up.

≠

“Hey, I was just calling to see how you were. You’re probably busy but you can call me back whenever you get this. I’d love to know if you’re alright.”

Stiles hits the callback button before he really thinks about it.

“I’m glad you—”

“Of course I’m not alright, you ass,” Stiles hisses at him. “My marriage is in shambles and it’s your fault. Jesus, I cheated on my husband with you, how would ANYTHING be fine?”

Stiles is panting, so angry he’s sweating and a little dizzy.

“Have you talked to him?”

Stiles frowns then looks at his phone. That was out of left field.

“Not since—not since he found out?”

“So… you’re OK? He hasn’t… hurt you, has he?”

Stiles screws up his face, pacing his office. Vanessa left for the day an hour ago, still not talking to him.

“No. No, Derek wouldn’t. I mean, sometimes but never on purpose.”

It’s silent over the phone. Stiles scratches the back of his neck, feeling embarrassed for no good reason.

“He doesn’t do it on purpose.”

“I believe you,” Chris says quietly.

“Besides, this is totally off-topic. I was trying to yell at you.”

Chris laughs softly like he finds that moderately amusing.

“It’s not funny. My life is in ruins.”

Stiles sits on the edge of his desk.

“No, it’s not funny,” Chris says in that low, even tone he uses sometimes. “But you were being cute and I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry, though; I shouldn’t have laughed.”

Stiles huffs, trying not to smile. It’s not fair that Chris is both sweet and level-headed when Stiles wants to hate him so bad right now.

“I wish you were here,” Stiles murmurs in the way of all people who know the fantasy of what they ask will not compare to the reality.

“I could be.”

Stiles’ head snaps to the door like he expects Chris to walk in. He doesn’t live in an eighties movie or a crappy teen drama so his door stays tightly shut and Stiles is alone. Stiles sighs.

“No, don’t bother driving across town just because I’m being stupid.”

“Are you sure? I’m only a couple streets away. I was having lunch with my daughter nearby.”

Stiles shakes his head.

“I’m… I’m good. I’m a grown ass man who can handle himself. Though I’m glad you explained what you were doing all the way over here. Would have been fishy without it.”

Chris laughs and Stiles isn’t mad about it. It actually makes him feel… better. Which immediately makes him feel worse. He cheated on his husband with this guy.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Chris asks.

“Laugh when I can’t see it,” Stiles responds before he can think better of it.

“Maybe you will later.”

Stiles looks at the clock on the wall. Kailee will be getting out of school soon.

“I don’t know, Chris…”

It’s silent over the line. Stiles plays with his wedding ring.

“It’s fine, Stiles. It’s your choice. If you want to be with me you can. If you don’t then you don’t have to. You know where my vote is but in the end this isn’t a democracy, it’s your life. You’re allowed to get what you want.”

Stiles hangs up, sliding off the desk onto the floor. There’s about three seconds of silence before he starts crying.

He just wants his husband to love him. Now… now that’s impossible.

Stiles fucked it all up.

≠

 

The door opens. Stiles doesn’t know how long he’s been on the floor but he does know it’s been long enough his face is tacky and he’s stopped crying.

“Hey Stiles, you in here?”

Stiles doesn’t move.

“What’re you doing on the floor?”

The door clicks shut, feet move towards him. A hand touches his back, moving down from his shoulder to waist.

“I thought I told you not to come?”

Stiles feels hollow, empty. He’s got a lot in common with his trashcan.

“I was worried.”

Arms pull on his until he’s sitting upright.

“I’m fine. Just wallowing in self-pity and my own failings at life.”

Chris scoffs, wiping at Stiles’ face with his strong fingers. Stiles leans into the touch. Even now, like this, it feels good to be touched by Chris.

“Come on, up. Let’s get some cold water on your face. You’ll feel better then.”

Stiles lets Chris pull him to his feet, still feeling hollow with a healthy side of embarrassment.

“I doubt it. Nothing is better. Those posters in high school lied.”

Chris cups Stiles’ face between his wonderful hands.

“Hey, listen to me; it will be better. You’ll have to believe me on it.”

Stiles’ face is stuck somewhere between frowning and not frowning quite so hard.

“Why should I, you home-wrecker?”

Chris huffs, smiling at Stiles.

“Because I didn’t figure out I was gay until my daughter graduated high school. I’m divorced, living a thousand miles away from my ex-wife, my family won’t talk to me, and I’m sleeping with a married man; I clearly have my life together.”

Stiles laughs. He can’t help it.

“It’s not funny. _I am literally a walking stereotype._ ”

Stiles laughs harder, bowing forward, hands gripping Chris’ shirt.

“All I need is a penis shaped sports car and a bald spot. Then the image will be complete.”

Stiles stops laughing.

“No.”

“No?” Chris asks, eyebrows raised.

“I like your hair,” Stiles answers, sliding his fingers through it. Chris smiles, ducking his head and running his hands down Stiles’ chest. Something jerks low in Stiles’ stomach, his lips parting. Jesus. He killed his marriage over this man.

Stiles crushes his lips against Chris’, tightening his grip on his hair and shoving his body as close as possible. Chris makes a small surprised noise, kissing back. His hands move over Stiles’ sides to press against his back. Stiles can’t get any closer without taking off his clothes and putting his dick in Chris but he wants to. Hands grab at his ass when he sucks on Chris’ tongue, their hips so snug together that Stiles can feel him growing hard.

Stiles breaks the kiss, breathing hard.

“What is it?”

Stiles reaches down, wrapping his fingers around the bulge in Chris’ pants.

“How would you feel about fucking me on my desk?”

Chris’ lips part, shiny and dark, as his eyes widen.

“Very good,” Chris says then clears his throat, hips moving so that he rubs against Stiles’ hand. “I’d like that very much.”

“Good,” Stiles murmurs, kissing Chris’ neck just to make him shiver. He tastes wonderful.

≠

 

“Stiles,” someone whispers into his ear. There’s a ringing noise that won’t stop. Stiles grunts, burrowing further under the blankets and into the warm arms around him. “Answer your phone.”

Stiles groans, pressing his face into the bristly neck in front of him.

“No. Sleep.”

Chris kisses the top of Stiles’ head, hand petting down Stiles’ side. Stiles sighs and settles. He feels profoundly comfortable and doesn’t want to move.

“It might be important…”

Stiles shakes his head. His phone continues to ring.

≠

 

Chris is in the bathroom brushing his teeth when Stiles listens to the voicemails on his phone.

“Answer your damn phone.”

“Call me.”

“Come home when you get this.”

Stiles’ heart beats funny when Chris’ arms wrap around him, Derek’s voice in his ear. He kisses Stiles’ neck softly. Stiles closes his eyes, leaning back against Chris. He turns around, careful not to dislodge the arms around him. Chris kisses him.

“You ready for breakfast?”

Stiles shakes his head, dropping his phone onto the floor. He loops his arms around Chris’ shoulders and kisses the underside of his chin.

“How about we just go back to bed?”

≠

 

Lydia sits across the table from him, perfectly manicured fingernail tapping at the little tray her macchiato sits on. She sighs, looking out the window of the coffee shop.

“Sooo….?”

“What?” She asks, turning those sharp eyes on Stiles. “Do you think we should start a club? Get T-shirts? I-left-my-seemingly-perfect-marriage-for-an-Argent?”

Stiles laughs. It’s only 87% self-loathing. He loves Lydia.

≠

 

Stiles finds Derek in the kitchen when he comes home. The house is well lit and comfortably messy; Kailee’s toys, clothes, and other odds and ends all about. He’s hunched over a glass of orange juice and Kailee is nowhere to be found.

Derek says nothing. Stiles sets his keys on the counter like it’s any other night. He half-expects Derek to tell him to go hang them up. Stiles sits down across from Derek and waits.

“I’ve known you were unhappy for years,” Derek begins and Stiles’ heart sinks. “I thought it was a phase, that it’d stop but… I can’t help the way I feel.”

Stiles nods, biting his lip and looking down at his wedding band. He probably stayed with Stiles for Kailee then.

“It’s OK. You don’t—you don’t love me anymore. I still—”

“ _No_ ,” Derek says quietly and with such force that Stiles flinches. “I love you, Stiles. I do. I just…”

Derek sighs, hunching over to run his hands through his hair.

“Then why?” Stiles asks in the smallest voice he’s ever heard leave his mouth. “Why do you hate it so much when I touch you?”

Derek shakes his head, eyes fixed on the table where he’s pressing his hands flat against its surface.

 _“I don’t know._ ”

Stiles licks his lips, heart pounding, hands shaking, and reaches across the table. He touches his fingers lightly to the back of Derek’s hand.

“It’s OK,” Stiles says even though he feels like screaming, like crying, like flipping the table Derek made for their kitchen.

“No it’s not. I—I don’t want you anymore, Stiles. The thought of having—of, of doing things with you that we’ve literally done hundreds of times makes me sick to my stomach and I don’t know _why_.”

He looks up at Stiles with this lost look so full of pain that all the pieces of Stiles’ damaged heart break into even smaller parts. There are tears in Derek’s eyes and Stiles hates himself.

Stiles stands, walks around the table and kneels in front of Derek.

“I love you,” Derek says as if the words have clawed their way out of his throat. Stiles lays his head in Derek’s lap, wrapping his arms around Derek’s legs. Derek doubles over, curling around Stiles, sandwiching his head between Derek’s legs and chest.

Stiles says nothing, listening to Derek cry, knowing that whatever comforting words he could say would be a lie. Eventually, Derek slides out of the chair, balling his body up to fit as much of himself into Stiles’ lap as possible. Stiles just holds him.

There’s nothing else he can do.

≠

 

“So what’re you going to do?” Vanessa asks from the chair Stiles has set up across his desk for clients. He doesn’t miss how she’s not taken her usual spot on the corner of his desk. Stiles sighs.

“I don’t know. I love Derek but…”

“But he doesn’t wanna go to funky town with you and you cheated on him.”

Stiles nods, thankful for the stark lighting being put on his horrid actions and situation.

“Sounds like you’re screwed. Literally and, because of that, figuratively as well.”

Stiles smiles tiredly at her.

≠

 

“DADDY!”

Stiles kneels down on the grass in front of Kailee’s school and braces. She bowls him over anyway. He rights himself, laughing, as she squeezes him tighter and tighter, little arms with super strength nearly bruising his ribs.

“I gotta stay at grumpa’s fer two days— _Not_ on Fridays—an’ I met officer doggies an’ we watched Stitch!”

Stiles slowly stands, Kailee hanging onto his neck.

“And grumpa made pichers wiv me an’ I gotta ride in the please crooser with the lights on ‘em! I didn’t like the noise. It’s so loud but them lights is pretty. You smell funny, daddy.”

Stiles laughs, arms tight around his baby girl as he walks them towards his Jeep.

“Do I, my little monster? Well, you smell like glue.”

“I got some in my hair when we was making macaroni pichers!”

He missed her so much.

≠

 

Stiles sits at the far end of the kitchen table, meal untouched. Derek and Kailee are debating red crayons verses blue crayons, Kailee on her booster seat. God, they’re both so fucking beautiful. Derek looks down the table at Stiles. He raises a fork full of perfectly steamed broccoli and pointedly puts it into his mouth. Stiles gets the message loud and clear.

The salsa chicken looks delicious even though Stiles would rather brain himself with it than eat it. He cuts off a piece and chews it slowly, counting each bite.

≠

 

“Hey,” Stiles says, pressing his phone to his ear with his shoulder. He’s wrist deep in soapy dishwater.

“Hey yourself.”

“What’s going on?” Stiles asks, scrubbing the skillet Derek used to make chicken in.

“Just wondering if I should expect you over tonight.”

Stiles bites his lip. Kailee and Derek are in the living room, doing homework. He knows they both can hear him if they want to.

“I don’t know, Chris. Derek and I are supposed to talk tonight. Once Kailee’s gone to bed.”

There’s some salsa stuck on the rim of the skillet that’s being stubborn.

“Alright. Will you let me know how it goes?”

Stiles would nod if he weren’t so sure he’d lose his phone in the sink. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Will do.”

≠

 

“Now that I know who that is, I can see the resemblance,” Derek says quietly from behind Stiles. Stiles bites his lip and concentrates on how his penknife is cutting into the clay in front of him.

Arms wrap around Stiles’ waist and he closes his eyes, setting down the knife with a sigh.

“You don’t have to do this, Derek.”

“Do what?” Derek asks with his mouth against Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles aches with guilt and the selfish desire to fuck his own husband.

“Touch me. I know you don’t want to.”

“But I want to make you happy.”

Stiles grips Derek’s arms and pulls them off of him, hating himself the entire time.

“Forcing yourself to do things that repulse you for my benefit does the opposite of make me happy.”

He turns to face him. Derek’s face is stormy, hands unconsciously rubbing where Stiles touched him.

“How are we supposed to do this then? Either way one of us isn’t happy.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles says, sitting down on his stool. “I don’t want to get a divorce but… the status quo isn’t going to work.”

Derek nods, frown on his face. Stiles clasps his hands together, resisting the urge to reach out and touch.

≠

 

“You know I used to be jealous of you two,” Scott says, sipping at a root beer.

Stiles slowly thumbs the label of his beer off.

“Perfect marriage, great kid, good job, living in a beautiful house… I was so jealous; you’re life seemed perfect.”

Stiles laughs. It’s more tired and sad than he expected.

“So… what’re you going to do?”

Stiles takes a big breath, trying to figure out how to answer. He knows now. There’s only ever been one real choice. The problem is that he doesn’t know if it’s the _right_ one.

≠

 

“Heyyyy, I’m home!”

Stiles closes the front door behind him, tossing his keys onto the entryway table and backpack underneath it. Stiles looks up at the sound of feet on the floor. Arms wrap around him and Stiles smiles, welcoming the touch.

“I ordered a half and half pizza, veggie and meat lovers. It’ll be here soon. Also got some wine.”

Stiles kisses his cheek and hums.

“Pizza and wine? Those two even go together?”

“Of course they do. Red sauce, red wine.”

Stiles grins. He still doesn’t know if he made the right decision but he can’t deny how much he wants to make this work.

≠

 

On Friday night Stiles lies in bed, staring at the ceiling. He can’t sleep but it’s not for the usual reasons. His skin buzzes, acutely aware of the body next to his. Stiles smiles at the face pointed his way from the pillow near him. He raises his hand and traces fingers lightly over the shoulder in front of him.

“Go to sleep, Stiles,” he mumbles, pulling the sheets around them both.

“OK,” Stiles says quietly. He burrows in close, tucking his head into the bend of neck in front of him. Stiles stares out the window, fascinated by a view that isn’t his bedroom’s. He watches the moon fade and set behind a row of houses and trees and sighs. 

He can live with this, he thinks. He can live with the consequences.

He has to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not quite so sure about this last installment. I'm totally open to comments, questions, critiques, and concerns. You have any, put them down below. I'm still thinking about rewriting this last chapter so let me know. 
> 
> All the questions I've gotten about this do make me wonder... how come no one wants to know what Stiles meant in chapter one when he said he had a bad real estate agent.  
> There may also be an epilogue that I'd post in the next day or two if the reaction to this is what I expect it to be. But who knows? No one ever reacts to my writing the way I expect them to.
> 
> Cheers.


	4. Full Mouths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I love you so much, you know that? The moon shines out of your ass and the stars twinkle in your eyes."  
> Derek huffs, heart thumping.  
> “You haven’t said that in a long time.”  
> “It’s still true.”  
> “I love you too and- I'm sorry, Stiles. So very sorry," Derek says.  
> “Oh, Derek, it’s OK. It’s… what it is. Neither of us can change the way we are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this helps. Sorry about how long this took. I totally kept putting it off and I meant to post it this weekend but I ended up staying at one of my lady friend's places on accident and Sunday I have a standing coffee date with The Roommate where I get to drink coffee and listen to him talk for fucking hours on end so I didn't do it. 
> 
> Apologies in advance for my terribleness with the Basque language.  
> Might change this chapter title. Dunno yet. But I'm going to be late for work now so I'll chat with y'all later.

Lee spins around in her computer chair, head back, staring at the ceiling. She can do this. Tonight. Yeah. She's gonna march into the living room, sit her parents down and tell them what's what. She is a Hale Stilinski after all. As Aunt Lydia would say, boys are stupid and sometimes you just need to hit them over the head with a blunt object until they get it. Yeah. Ok. She's going to do this. Rambling and ineffective pep talk aside, she's going to sit her patents down and explain to them in small words how staying together for the kid is literally the worst cliché they could emulate. Ever. She's going to be sixteen in eight months, two weeks, and four days. That's way more than adult enough to handle them giving up the ghost of pretense and starting to live how they want.  
Besides, they would have to be totally dumb to think she hadn't noticed. Dad has his own bedroom, he spends more nights hanging out with Uncle Chris-- who is totally crushing on dad like woah, it's kind of pathetic the way he moons over him-- and Pops is going to work his hands down to nubs with how much time he spends carving and gardening. They put on a brave face but Lee can totally tell they're miserable.  
She sits up straight in her chair and glares straight on at the wolf sculpture Dad made her for her birthday. She's going to do it. Kailee Laura Hale Stilinski is going to save her dads from themselves.  
"Leelee! Get your butt in here before we start without you!" Dad yells. Lee sighs, rolling her eyes and stands.  
"Daaad! It's just Lee now!"  
She hears him mutter under his breath, "Always going to be my Leelee..."  
Benevolently, she ignores this and leaves her room, walks down the hall to the living room, and pauses. Lee takes a big breath, tucking her bangs behind her ear, and girds herself. She's going to do this.  
"Lurking just like your dad. Get in here, baby girl."  
She blows out a big breath and marches in. Lee sits down on the coffee table, facing her dads, resolve face on. Pops' eyebrow twitches up. Dad smiles.  
"Dads, I need to talk to you about something."  
"Oh no," Dad says, reaching out to touch the couch next to Pops' hand without actually making contact. "It's another intervention."  
Pops nods grimly, that weird constipated smile on his face that Lee is sure he thinks is cute. It's not.  
"Have you been putting peppers in the meatloaf again, Dad?"  
Dad mock gasps, clutching invisible pearls.  
"I didn't think she'd notice, Mom. I relapsed. I’m so ashamed."  
Pops shakes his head mournfully.  
"You should have known better. She always notices the peppers. Even in the spaghetti."  
Lee's mouth drops open.  _There are peppers in the spaghetti???_  Wait. No. Off topic.  
She glares at them. They're such dorks.  
"This’s not about the peppers. We'll get to that later. This is serious."  
Dad smiles, fiddling with the little silver bullet necklace that Uncle Chris gave him a couple years ago.  
"Go on then, baby girl. We're listening."  
Lee takes in a deep breath, looks between her dads, and thinks about how much these two goofballs mean to her.  
"You guys know I love you, right? No matter what?"  
"Oh no," Pop mutters, playing with the straw on his juice box. "This must be big, Dad."  
Dad nods solemnly.  
"Serious business is abound when the boss breaks out the L word, Mom. We better listen closely."  
Dorks. Big, inoperable dorks. Nothing can save them. Not even their eternally cool daughter.  
"I know your marriage is a sham," Lee blurts out. Loud. They still. She can't even hear dad breath.  
"That's not true, honey. We–"  
"No, Derek. No more," Dad says, patting the couch next to Pops’ hand. Lee's heart freezes. She can't even tell if her eyes are bugging. She thought– well, she thought she was wrong maybe. That they'd protest and prove her incorrect. She thought they– she HOPED that they were just extra weird and not– Her eyes burn and her chest hurts and everything gets a little blurry.  
"So you really don't love each other? Were you just– pretending for my benefit?"  
She knows her voice is wobbly and squeaky. Pops frowns, sets his juice box down. Dad holds out his hands.  
"Oh, no. Not that. Come here."  
Lee gets off the coffee table and curls up between them, water leaking from her eyes. They wrap their arms around her, kiss her head in synch like they've done as long as she can remember. She makes a noise she won't describe and pushes her face into Pops’ shoulder.  
"We're not pretending, my little monster. Never that. I love your dad. I do. So much. And he loves me. It's just..."  
Dad sighs and rubs her back. Pops sighs too, pets her head.  
"I– we–" Pops stalls, his heart is racing against her ear.  
"It's OK, Der. Let me," Dad says, soft, gentle. He always speaks for Pops when he can't find the words. Kailee kinda thought that was sweet. Like it meant they were perfect for each other. "We're still married. We still love each other. We're just... Not together-together."  
Kailee feels Pops nod. He kisses the top of her head.  
"There are some things... It's complicated," Pops murmurs.  
"But–" Kailee stops. She just doesn't understand what they're saying.  
"Me and your dad, we're best friends OK? I love him more than anything–"  
"Asterisk," Pops cuts in.  
"True. We love you more than anything else. We're close seconds for each other but, shit, this is hard to explain."  
"Stiles! Language."  
Dad sighs.  
"Oh please. Like she hasn't heard that before. Anyway. It's like, I don't know, we weren't quite right for each other, er,  _romantically_."  
Kailee ignores the insinuation in that. She so does not want to think about them and the S word in the same sentence.  
"But you're still together. Why?"  
This is all on a level of incomprehensible she can't reach.  
"Sort of? I... Moon above, this is hard."  
"Your dad's dating someone else and I'm celibate."  
Kailee sits up so quick she bashes her head into Pops’ jaw. He grunts at the impact but doesn’t comment.   
"What!" She squeaks. She really needs to get that squeaking under control.  
"Well, you know, sometimes a person decides to not... You know... With anyone?"  
Kailee shakes her head and purposely falls off the couch. She kneels up and points at Dad.  
"I know what celibacy is. You're dating someone? Like smoochies in the movie theater and, and, dinner and  _other stuff_?!"  
Dad nods, rolling his bottom lip into his mouth and chewing on it. He starts playing with the necklace again. Something horrifying and gross clicks in her head.  
"OH MY GOD YOU'RE BANGING UNCLE CHRIS!"  
Dad blinks, mouth falling open. Pops starts to laugh. Kailee continues to point at him. The friend nights, accidentally sleeping over at her uncle's, the way they look at each other, the strangely boyfriendy gifts they give to each other like the necklace and the sculptures and oh holy shit, Uncle Chris has seen her dad  _naked_.  
"Dude. It's not funny," Dad hisses. Pops shakes his head, clutching his stomach.  
"I know. I know. It's just– she figured it out  _way_  quicker than I did."  
Dad blushes, eyes dropping. Is that– is that  _shame_  on his face?  
"Wha–  _did you cheat on Pops?_ "  
Dad nods, twisting his wedding band around on his finger.  
"Yes but that was a long time ago. Well, I guess last night counts too so, uh, I did and I am- frequently- but now your dad knows and he's OK with it?"  
Kailee makes a face. She so did not need to hear that. Now she'll never get images of her dad and uncle... Doing stuff out of her head.  
"Please for the love of my sanity never mention anything like you and Uncle Chris and the frequency of... You and Uncle Chris ever again."  
Pops covers his mouth with his hand, wedding band glinting in the living room light. Kailee drops her arm. She has no idea what she's feeling right now.  
"Sorry, baby girl. I'm just– well, it's hard–"  
Pops snorts and starts to, and Kailee can't believe she's applying this word to him, giggle. Dad glares at him.  
"Not helping, Mom."  
Pops drops his hands and nods.  
"I know," he says, trying to hold in the laughter. "This is just way more uncomfortably awkward than I ever thought it would be."  
Dad sighs.  
"Yeah..."  
Kailee─ Lee. She's Lee now. Lee frowns and sits back on her heals.  
"But why do you still wear your wedding rings?"  
Dad's mouth opens, closes.  
"You know I never thought about taking it off," he says in a surprised voice. "Derek?"  
Pops shrugs.  
"I... Thought about it."  
Dad turns to him as if he's forgotten Lee's there. He does that.  
"Really? Why didn't you?"  
Pops shrugs, staring at Dad with a clenched jaw.  
"Derek..."  
"You're still the love of my life. I know– even though I can't– I still love you."  
"Oh, Derek. Nire otsoa gazi…" Pops flushes harder and looks down. Dad rubs his own thighs, biting his lip. "Benetan orain zuk musu nahi dut."  
Pops smiles. Lee is not as fluent in Basque as her dads so it takes her a while to parse that out.  
"Zein da zure maitalea pentsatuko luke?"  
Dad smiles.  
"Screw him."  
"Hori da, zer egin nahi dazu.” 

They must really think she doesn't understand that as much as she does.  
"Later," Pops says, tilting his head towards Lee. "Not in front of the bilingual kid."  
Lee bites her tongue but knows she's still given herself away. Dad whips his head towards her and hisses, " _What else do you know?_ "   
Lee grins and pats him on the knee.  
"Lots."  
Dad squints at her until Pops flicks his arm. He sighs and nods. This is why she couldn't quite believe it. They do this stuff all the time. Talking for each other, communicating in gestures, do things without asking like run baths or get drinks... Old people couple stuff. But–  
Dad and Uncle Chris. It makes a lot of sense now that she thinks about it. Lee settles in against the couch, squeezing in between her dads' legs. Pops hits play on the TV and the episode starts. She has more questions. Lots of them. She needs to think first, let this information ferment. The episode on TV plays without her notice, her dads don't talk, and she thinks.  
  
Hours and hours later, she's laying in bed, mostly asleep, when they finally break their silence.  
"You can call him. I know you want to," Pops says quietly. They're still in the living room. They moved around a bit but not much since she left. Dad sighs.  
"I do but–"  
"I know you need to."  
Lee tries her hardest to keep her breathing even, to sound as asleep as possible. Pops mutes the TV. There's ringing.  
"Hey."  
"Hey." Dad responds. He sounds weird. Down, maybe.  
"I was just about to go to bed."  
Dad breathes in this big breath, his heartbeat uneven.  
"Wish I was there."  
"Mmm. Tomorrow?"  
"Yeah. Seven?"  
"I've got dinner with Allison and Lydia. Nine?"  
"OK. Hey Chris?"  
Uncle Chris hums.  
"I love you."  
Lee can practically hear Uncle Chris' smile when he responds.  
"I love you too."  
"I'll see you tomorrow, you home wrecker."  
Uncle Chris laughs.  
"Alright, sweetie. You need me you just call."  
"I will."  
"Goodnight, Stiles."  
"G'night, hon."  
The call ends. Lee bites her lip, trying not to let her heart rate change at that.  
"Feel better?" Pops asks.  
"I need a fucking hug."  
There's movement and then Dad sighs.  
"It's OK," Pops says quietly. "I still love you. Chris still loves you. Kailee loves you. Nothing about that has changed."  
Dad's heart beats weird, thumps in his chest.  
"Then why do I feel like such a piece of shit?"  
"Because everything is all your fault."  
Pops says that so matter of fact it makes Lee cringe.  Dad sighs again.  
"What're you doing?"  
"Telling Chris you need him to come over."  
"A– what?"  
Pops says nothing. Dad's heart races.  
"But you said—"  
"And I can unsay it. You're not leaving here tonight. I know you. You don't want to be anywhere Kailee can't get to you easily."  
More movement.  
"Derek..."  
"Keep it PG-13 and don't wake Kailee up in the middle of the night."  
Lee frowns. She can't help it. Uncle Chris has never spent the night in the history of ever. Which... Makes sense if they were trying to keep it from her.

"I love you so much, you know that? The moon shines out of your ass and the stars twinkle in your eyes."  
Pops huffs, heart thumping.

“You haven’t said that in a long time.”

“It’s still true.”

“I love you too and- I'm sorry, Stiles. So very sorry," Pops says. Lee wonders what he's apologizing for.

“Oh, Derek, it’s OK. It’s… what it is. Neither of us can change the way we are.”

She lays in bed for the next twenty minutes more curious about what's going to happen than tired.  
The front door opens. She tenses.  
"Chris."  
"Stiles, what's going on? Derek said to bring an overnight bag."  
Dad sighs and there are footsteps. Kissing sounds. Ew.  
"What's wrong, sweetie?"  
Dad sighs. He's been doing that a lot tonight. Lee kind of feels guilty but it's his fault. He's the one who didn't tell her.  
"Kailee found out about Derek and I, about us."  
Uncle Chris's heart speeds up.  
"Oh sweetie..."  
Kissing sounds.  
"She took it remarkably well when she told us."  
Chris laughs.  
"Of course she did."  
There's a silence that Lee doesn't know what they do during.  
"Do you want to talk about it?"  
"Not right now I don't."  
"What do you want then?"  
Even more kissing noises. It's almost like they're a real couple.  
"I know what I want but I can't have it."  
Uncle Chris hmms again.  
"Let's go to bed then."  
There's the sounds of feet on floor, a door, the rustle of sheets, then Dad sighs again.  
"I feel like I've snuck in under your parents' nose."  
Dad huffs.  
"Do you think Mister Stilinski Hale will catch us?" Uncle Chris whispers.  
Dad groans.  
"Shut up."  
"We'll be in so much trouble..."  
The bed makes small noises as one or both of them move. Lots of kissing noises. Heavy breathing. Lee's face burns at that. She is totally hearing her dad make out with her uncle.  
"Fuck, I want you so much right now."  
Both of their hearts are beating quickly, breathing hard.  
"Me too, sweetie."  
Dad sighs again. The bed shifts. Silence. Lee can hear Pops in his room turn over in his bed. She thinks on how he said that Dad was still the love of his life. She wonders how he can stand listening to this, to Dad in bed with another man.  
“I can’t believe you came over here in your pajamas,” Dad mutters quietly.

“It didn’t make sense to get dressed just to undress again.”

Dad huffs.

“Bullshit. I know how you sleep, you jezebel.”

Uncle Chris laughs softly.

“You know it’s actually illegal to drive topless?”

“Did you know it’s not illegal to go to bed topless?”

Kissing sounds again. Jeeze, they kiss a lot…

“Did you know you have a very intimidating husband who I don’t want to anger?”

Dad laughs quietly.

“He’s not scary at all. Derek’s basically a grumpy faced teddy bear.”

Uncle Chris grunts.

“Say that when he’s holding a hacksaw and telling  _you_  that if you break his husband’s heart he’s got a freshly turned flower bed…”

Pops snorts in his room. Lee bites her lip and can’t help but wonder what in the world of warcraft is going on. It’s silent after that. Lee slowly falls asleep, her mind still buzzing with all the things she learned today. She’s going to  _murder_  them with questions tomorrow.

“Hey, Chris?”

Uncle Chris grunts.

“Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary, Stiles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might, maybe -- MAYBE -- make two more chapters possibly all from Kailee's perspective or maybe a round robin of the other characters in this story but I don't know. Is there any interest in that?
> 
> Also: Sorry for the weird formatting. I've been having an argument with my word processor.

**Author's Note:**

> ************* I changed the title of the story because if it's going to be multi-chaptered then The Killing Type is its proper title and not Empty Hearts. *************


End file.
